


Love and Blood

by winchester_in_the_tardis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gang AU, Gang Violence, John Winchester Not Being an Asshole, Lots of couples, M/M, Most people are BAMFs, Multiple Third Person POV, but the main one is destiel, smut probably later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchester_in_the_tardis/pseuds/winchester_in_the_tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions are high in the southern states of the USA, as five rival gangs fight for dominance over areas of Texas and New Mexico. Dean Winchester of the Hunters is struggling under the pressure of becoming gang leader, as his father has decided to step down. After he reunites with his childhood friend - a member of an enemy gang - he can't seem to find the hatred of the other gangs that he is supposed to feel with a fiery vengeance. Meanwhile, Michael of the Angels discusses an alliance with the Leviathans and Lucifer begins to question his morality. As things begin to come to a head and each side battles it out, the fight becomes a game of chess, and every single gang member is starting to feel like a pawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Sweet Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry I've been away for so long guys! Life has just been hectic, and I honestly have not had any spare time.  
> Unfortunately, I am suffering from writers block for When We Crossed Paths, and this is essentially the product of that writer's block. I will be continuing with WWCP, but it may be a while before I get some inspiration :(  
> In the meantime, enjoy this.
> 
> Please leave comments down below to suggest whether I should continue!

The raucous noise and drunken laughter of the Roadhouse assaulted Dean's ears from where he sat at the bar, an untouched bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him. It was late on a Saturday night, and all members of the Hunters - plus a few close friends - had gathered at the bar to get wasted. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Charlie and Jo sat on a leather couch to his left, arguing with Garth who seemed to have proposed that they play strip poker. He chuckled under his breath before turning back to the counter, where Ellen was cleaning glasses with a worn-looking rag. She glanced at him.

"How're you doin' Dean?" she asked him, the twang in her accent betraying the fact that they all lived in Texas.

"Great, thanks Ellen," he replied dutifully. She raised an eyebrow and surveyed him doubtfully.

"Now, you may be able to fool some people in these parts, Dean Winchester, but I've known you since you were small enough to be cradled in my arms. You ain't been 'great' for a couple months at best."

Dean sighed and lowered his gaze to his bottle. In truth, most people knew by now that he wasn't at his best, but they generally tried their best to ignore it.

"S'okay, Ellen," he mumbled.

"Don't you go giving me any of that nonsense, boy." She leaned on the counter and tipped his chin, forcing him to look her directly in the eye. "Now, this wouldn't have anything to do with your daddy stepping down and all, would it?"

Dean couldn't help it; he grinned. Ellen had an uncanny knack for getting things spot on. "No, ma'am," he said.

She huffed and let go of his chin, pushing of the counter and returning to the glasses. "How's Sam?" she asked, changing the subject.

"He's good," Dean replied. He didn't mention the epic battles at home that had been waging between Sam and Dad. Sam wanted to go to college, but Dad - being the stubborn dickhead he was - wouldn't hear of it. He wanted both his sons to follow in his footsteps. Fat chance. Sam Winchester and John Winchester were so different they might as well have been from separate species altogether. Sam would never stay in this life - at least Dean could acknowledge that.

Giving Ellen one last nod, he pushed of the stool and started to make his way over to Charlie, Jo and Garth, but before he had taken even two steps, the whole bar went deadly silent.

Dean looked around, bewildered. What on earth was going on? He scanned the crowded bar, trying to find the source, when as if by magic, the sea of people parted and a path was cleared. Michael Novak stood in the doorway, wearing a long, buttoned coat. Dean blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, because Michael Novak simply could not be standing in the doorway, because it was a well-known fact that the Roadhouse was Hunter territory.

Dean studied his face. It had been just under two years since the last time he had seen him, and new lines decorated his forehead and the crinkles under his eyes. His dark hair was thinning and greying. Age was finally beginning to catch up with him.

Michael's gaze fixed on Dean, and Dean automatically reached for the gun hidden in his pants. He had no idea why Michael Novak would be looking for a shootout on a quiet Saturday night, but if he was, Dean was happy to oblige.

However, instead of reaching for his own gun, Michael folded his arms and glared at Dean.

"I'm not looking for violence," he announced in his booming voice. "At least not tonight."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you here for? I sure as hell hope it's not a social call, 'cause the Angels are in no way welcome here," he said.

Michael flexed his jaw. "One of my members was assaulted and hurt very badly."

Dean's stomach dropped out from underneath him. It couldn't be...? No, it wasn't. Or at least he hoped not. He took a breath and regrouped.

"And you thought that was a reason to, what, come and socialise?"

Michael sneered at him. "No, of course not. I came here to see if John Winchester was the one who authorised the attack."

"Well, he certainly wasn't," Dean retorted. "You think we're idiots? We don't just go around stirring up trouble for no apparent reason."

Michael's eyebrows lifted and he cocked his head. "Of course you don't."

Dean felt his anger surge. "We didn't attack your member, okay? Now get the hell out of here."

Rather than leaving, Michael just stood there observing him, causing Dean to seethe. If the old man stood there for ten more goddamn seconds...

"Just pass on my message to daddy, okay?" Michael said in a patronising voice. "Tell your father that if he did authorise the attack, the Angels will be coming for payback. A member for a member." He paused, something spiteful glinting in his eyes. "You might want to tell your little brother to watch his back."

Before Dean knew what he was doing, his gun was out and pointing straight at Michael Novak's head. Several people gasped.

"The hell do you think you are?" he spat. "First you come into our territory, then you accuse us of something we didn't do, and then you threaten my brother? Get out or I swear I won't hesitate to shoot you."

Michael froze, surprise and disbelief colouring his features.

"Get. Out."

Michael seemed to decide that leaving was in fact the best choice, because he turned to the door. He stopped, his hand on the handle and turned halfway to look at Dean sideways.

"You might want to be careful who you threaten, boy. You could make some very dangerous enemies with an attitude like that."

He didn't wait for Dean to react before slipping out of the door and disappearing into the night. The bar was silent as Dean tried to regulate his breathing. As calmly as he possibly could, he placed the gun back in its hiding place and ran a hand over his face.

"Chuck," he said, looking around. Chuck immediately stood and faced him.

"Yeah, Dean?" he asked.

"Go and find all the information you can about this assault. I need to know which member of the Angels was attacked and which gang most likely authorised it."

"Sure, boss," Chuck said and turned to leave. Dean instinctively flinched at the word 'boss'.

He turned back to the bar and, slowly but surely, the chatter returned to the Roadhouse, albeit slightly more nervous than before. Dean bit his lip anxiously. He had to be realistic, and there was only one person important enough to Michael Novak to warrant him coming out and seeking revenge personally. Unfortunately, that was coincidentally the exact person Dean desperately hoped that it wasn't.

 

~~~~~

 

Meg headed downstairs to the kitchen. It was past midnight, but in her mind, no time was too late for food. She shifted her headphones so that they sat on her neck and opened the fridge to dig through it. Dammit. Had Ruby stolen her chocolate again? That bitch.

She heaved a sigh and closed the fridge. There was no choice but to go out to the all night store - she had gotten chocolate on her mind and she wouldn't be able to get rid of it until she ate some. Just as she was reaching for her keys, the phone rang. She rolled her eyes. Typical.

She picked up the phone and held it to her ear. "This had better be good if you're ringing at almost one in the morning."

"Meg." Alastair's reedy voice came down the line. "Bad news."

Meg scoffed. "Sure. It's always bad news. What now?"

"Castiel Novak's been attacked."

Meg stood up straight. "Shit. Michael Novak's kid? Of the Angels?"

"The very one," Alastair confirmed gravely.

"Shit," Meg repeated. "Do they know who organised the hit?"

"Not yet. Crowley's still working on finding out. We'd better be vigilant, 'cause Michael Novak is gonna be out for blood. My best bet is he's going to go to the Hunters first, if he hasn't already. We all know the bloody history between him and John Winchester."

"Does Luc know?" Meg inquired.

"Yeah. He's super pissed, because Michael's going to be really distrustful of all the gangs for a while now, and Luc was working towards striking an alliance."

"Shit," Meg said for the third time. "Okay. Keep me updated, will you?"

"You betcha."

She hung up and shifted her headphones on her neck. This was going to really screw up any alliances Luc had in mind for a while. She made a mental note to steer clear of him for a while. The dude was scary when he was angry.

 

~~~~~

 

The next morning found Dick Roman in his office, sorting through files on his desk. He was exhausted; he'd been up all night making phone calls. Come to think of it, he'd been tired for a long while thanks to his brother Chet, who'd been breathing down his neck for weeks. For god's sake, Dick was the goddamn leader of the Leviathans, but Chet always seemed to forget that. He seemed to think Dick was bound to screw up.

Of course, Dick would show him. He'd come up with a foolproof plan for an alliance with the Angels - that was sure to make Chet happy.

The intercom on the wall buzzed. Dick reached over and pressed the button.

"Yeeellllo," he said into the mic.

Edgar's voice crackled through the speaker. "Sir, the Alpha of the Vampires requests an audience with you. He says its a peaceful visit."

Goodness, what did that old man want? Allegedly, the Leviathans were on relatively good terms with the Vampires, but Dick always felt faintly personally repulsed by the Alpha. Oh well. He had to keep up appearances.

"You might as well send him up then, Martinez," he said into the intercom. He enjoyed addressing his members by their surnames. It made him feel superior.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door to his office and the Alpha entered, wearing a crisp, pressed suit. 

"Good morning, Mr Roman," he rumbled, seating himself at the desk opposite Dick.

"It is, isn't it, Mr - er...Alpha?" It occurred to Dick that he didn't actually know the Alpha's real name. The Alpha smiled secretively.

"I came to discuss a certain matter with you, Mr Roman," the Alpha stated. "I'm sure you're aware of the attack on Michael Novak's son?"

"I am," Dick replied. Of course, he was more than aware.

"I'm sure you would agree that it is a delicate matter, considering the tenuous relations between certain gangs."

"Oh, yes indeed," Dick answered, wondering where this was going.

"And I'm sure you would also agree, Mr Roman, that the Angels, the Hunters and - to a lesser extent - the Demons are all considerably less...civilised than the likes of you and me."

"Hm?" Dick prompted.

"Well, they certainly prefer the 'shoot first, ask questions later' approach to life."

"Yes, they are quite trigger-happy," Dick agreed.

"You see, what I'm saying, Mr Roman, is that we may be able to use this to our advantage. I'm not going to insult you by asking whether you ordered the attack on the young Mr Novak, but we may still be able to - ah - work together to strike certain alliances."

Dick considered this. It had certainly not been a part of his original plan, but he had to admit that he needed all the help he could get, and the Alpha was smart.

"So, to expand," the Alpha continued. "We could, say, let the others have their little messy spats, and we could, perhaps, favour towards the winning side?"

Dick felt a smile grow on his face. It seemed that him and the Alpha were more likeminded than he'd first thought.

"That...is a very good idea," he said. The Alpha arched his brows.

"So, Mr Roman. Do we have a deal?

 

~~~~~

 

The first thing Cas registered was the incessant beeping. It reached through the darkness and demanded he come back to consciousness. He wanted to groan, but he didn't seem to be able to move a muscle.

His eyelids were stiff as he opened them. Light immediately assaulted his eyes. He blinked several times, letting his eyes adjust, before welcoming the blurry white ceiling. He definitely wasn't at home, because his bedroom ceiling was brown. 

The annoying beeping was still there, making him turn his head and blink more. The source of the beeping was a large machine. The rest of the room was as white as the ceiling, with medical equipment everywhere.

He was in a hospital.

A surge of panic shot through him and he tried to sit up, but was immediately greeted by a world of pain. His whole body felt like it had been dragged through a meat grinder.

Breathing heavily, he tried to figure out what the last thing he remembered was. Then, suddenly, it all came back to him. The alleyway. The three hooded figures jumping him and beating him until he lost consciousness. It was rather embarrassing when he reflected back on it. He was supposed to be the best fighter of the Angels, but as soon as three random people got the jump on him, he ended up in a damn hospital. 

Just then, the door flew open and his mother, Naomi, and his cousin, Jimmy, came hurrying in, relief clear on their faces. Naomi rushed over to the bed and took his hand, careful not to hurt him.

"Castiel, you're awake! Thank God, you had me so worried there! How do you feel, baby?" she asked, feeling his forehead.

"Peachy," he croaked, his throat cracking.

From behind Naomi, Jimmy chuckled. "Glad to see they didn't beat your sense of humor out of you," he quipped. Cas would have grinned, except it physically hurt to move his facial muscles.

"You poor thing," Naomi cooed. "The bastards broke two fingers, cracked three ribs and caused some quite heavy internal bleeding. I swear, baby, we are going to find whoever did this to you."

"Uncle Michael's been on the warpath," Jimmy informed him.

"What's Dad done now?" Cas asked, although he could only manage a whisper.

"He's only gone and threatened the Hunters. We don't even know if it was them yet."

Cas' chest twisted, just like it did whenever the Hunters were mentioned. The Hunters couldn't have organised this, especially seen as-

No. He wasn't going to go there.

"What are you talking about? Of course it was the Hunters!" Naomi exclaimed. "It's exactly the kind of violent, sneaky thing those cavemen would do."

"Nah, it's too obvious," Jimmy argued. 

"Hmph," was all Naomi said.

"Well, whoever it was, we'll get to the bottom of it," Jimmy assured.

Whatever. Cas didn't have the energy to think about that right now. All he wanted to know was when he was getting out of hospital.


	2. We All Look For Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I am such trash. I'm ten chapters into When We Crossed Paths, but then on a whim my brain has decided to become obsessed with this new idea, and now all I can write is this fic. I am so sorry BUT I PROMISE I WILL UPDATE WHEN WE CROSSED PATHS SOMETIME.
> 
> Feel free to hate me.
> 
> Also, please, please, please comment and review on this story. I need to see whether it is actually worth putting my other fic on hold for.

While rain pattered lightly down from sluggish, gray clouds, Pete and Royce loitered outside Dick Roman's office building. It was an odd occurrence, for it to be raining in Texas, but alas, the two men were prone to this kind of bad luck. The street was relatively devoid of cars or people - just way they liked it. The less people around, the less witnesses if something untoward were to happen. Which often did.

Under the shelter of the building, Pete took a cigarette out of his pocket and brought it up to his mouth, holding it in place with his teeth while he lit it.

"You kidding me?" Royce exclaimed. "You've had, what, fifteen today? Slow down, man."

Pete grinned, took a long drag, then blew a plume of hazy smoke into Royce's face. "Hey, what can I say? I got a problem."

"Yeah, you've got a few'a those," Royce muttered, causing Pete to chuckle and clap him on the back of the head.

The two men were silent for a while, leaning against the wall and surveying the dreary street. When they had been initiated into the Leviathans, they'd both envisioned a little more glamour in a life like this. The hard truth was that their lives were basically the same, except with a lot more drugs and violence.

In all honesty, that was just the way they liked it.

"I tell you what," Royce said, his voice breaking the silence. "Dick had better know what he's doing, else we're in for a shitstorm."

"Dick has a plan," Pete said confidently. "The Angels are gonna assume the Hunters did it, and then they'll attack one of John Winchester's kids, then the Hunters will retaliate, and eventually they'll kill each other off. Once they're outta the equation, Dick's gonna work on the Demons and the Vampires. It's genius."

Royce made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat. "Whatever. I'm just sayin'. He has us and George beat up the precious little Novak kid, and then he doesn't even give us protection in case the Angels come for our asses. It ain't fair."

Quick as a flash, Pete's cigarette was on the ground and his hand was at Royce's throat, pushing him against the wall.

"Where the fuck do you get off?" he snarled. "First I get George comin' up to me, whinin' about how he's goddamn scared that his pissy ass is gonna get whooped, and now you're spewing this bullshit. Do neither of you pansies have any faith? Dick's been good to us, has he not?"

"Y-yeah-" Royce choked, clawing at Pete's arm.

"Now, you listen carefully. When you're in, you're in for the long haul. You knew that. We can't afford to have you chickenin' out when things get a little bumpy. Dick is gonna get us through this, and he's gonna make sure we come out on top. No more Angels. No more Hunters. No more any of the other sons-of-bitches. You'll see. Capiche?"

Royce tried to nod, but it was somewhat constrained by the hand around his throat. Pete flared his nostrils and worked his jaw, then slowly let go and lowered his arm. Royce collapsed to the floor, coughing and hacking onto the ground. 

Pete rolled his eyes. "Oh, quit exaggerating, you fuckin' baby. I barely bruised you."

Royce looked up at him incredulously. Pete shrugged, then proceeded to light another cigarette, whistling to himself all the while.

 

~~~~~

 

Meanwhile, miles away in New Mexico, Rufus Turner sat at his kitchen table and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted after going through William Harvelle's file all night, searching and scanning for anything that might leave clues. Some part of him knew it was pointless; he'd been through this file more times than he could count, and had never found anything. It was growing increasingly frustrating.

Rufus had been posted here over a year ago - both to regulate any unwarranted drug deals and to investigate the mystery that surrounded the death of his friend. John Winchester had taken pity on Rufus - since William was technically no longer a gang member at the time that he was killed, the Hunters were under no obligation to solve the mystery or seek revenge. John's solution had been to send Rufus out here, where he could help the Hunters from afar and have enough time on his hands to try to get to the bottom of the mystery. The Hunters had also taken in William's wife and daughter. Ellen and Jo had had nowhere else to go, and John had welcomed them back with open arms.

Unfortunately, it seemed that John's kindness had been futile. For months, Rufus had been trying to grasp at nonexistent leads, and he was beginning to despair. At this point, he considered that it was probably better just to return to Texas; there was nothing left for him here, and after all, Texas had been the actual area of William's death. Perhaps he would find better leads there.

Plus, he missed it. He missed his friends, most of whom he hadn't seen in a year. He missed the familiar mist of the city of Morton, where most of the Hunters were based. And - although he'd never admit it - he missed being in the middle of it all. The violence and constant shootouts were what had always made him feel truly alive. That was part of the reason why he had agreed to exile himself so far away. He'd thought that, if William couldn't be alive, then why should he?

Running a hand over his tired face, he pushed himself out of his chair and headed to his door to check for mail. Most of the post he received nowadays was usually information for his investigation, or letters giving him details about deals he should know about. He opened the door to find a single envelope sitting on the porch. Wondering what it was, he leaned down and picked it up, then shut the door as he walked back down the hall. Blowing out a tired breath, he placed himself back in the chair and proceeded to rip the envelope open.

Inside was a folded letter. He took it out and unfolded it, quickly scanning the typed information. The letter, at first glance, seemed like nothing new. It detailed an unauthorised drug exchange that had recently gone down between two unknown sources. However, when Rufus neared the end of the letter, he sat up in rigid shock. Usually, the drug exchanges that he axed were small and discreet, but, if this letter was to be believed, these people were moving massive amounts of crack. Not only that, but the load was also already on its way to its destination.

Which was Morton.

Rufus slumped back, dumbly disbelieving what he was seeing. This wasn't something he'd be able to solve with a simple phone call or a trip downtown. No, he'd have to drive down himself and intercept the truck transporting the load - which was virtually impossible to do, since he had no way of knowing which truck it was. He'd have to go to Morton if he wanted this done properly.

It was a huge, glaring coincidence. Almost impossible - as if somebody was trying to lure him back to the city. Nonetheless, he would have to go anyway. If the letter was telling the truth, then Rufus had to stop that load getting to wherever it was supposed to.

After a year of nothing particularly eventful occurring, this development was almost welcome.

 

~~~~~

 

Benny Lafitte was annoyed. There were three reasons for this. One: the apartment had run out of toilet paper. Two: Luther and Kate were having very loud sex in the next room, interrupting his watching of an episode of 'The Price Is Right'. Three: the Alpha was keeping secrets.

Out of all these three things, Benny was unsure which one irked him the most. At the present moment, probably number two, but in the long haul, it was probably number three. He hated it when the Alpha kept secrets, especially when Benny was supposed to be his right hand man.

Yesterday, the Alpha had been out all day for some unknown reason, then returned to his manor at eleven pm, muttering about deals and 'fantastic plans'. Benny had waited all goddamn day when he could have gone home and napped, and then the Alpha had the audacity to completely ignore him. Benny was growing sick of being treated so offhandedly.

He actually had a good idea of where the Alpha had been. When he'd brushed him on his way out of the manor, he had smelled the distinct mixture of coconut, vanilla and sandalwood that always permeated the office of Dick Roman, the leader of the Leviathans. Benny had been there more than once, and not a single one of his visits had gone very pleasantly. But what on earth would the Alpha be doing to spend all day in Dick Roman's office?

The moaning behind the wall grew to high-pitched yelling and the banging grew louder and louder. In normal circumstances, Benny wouldn't have hesitated to march in there and tell them to shut the fuck up or he'd shoot them both, but he was quite distracted at the moment. He merely hunkered down on the sofa and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

He was going to get to the bottom of what the Alpha was up to if it was the last thing he did.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean hung up the phone and placed it on the kitchen counter. His heart refused to slow down, no matter how hard he tried to stay calm. He looked down at his left hand resting on the counter and slowly curled it into a fist. For a few seconds, he squeezed it tightly, then relaxed it. His heart slowed down a little.

Chuck had just called him, telling him he'd gathered the details of the assault on the Angels member. It was just as Dean had feared - Cas Novak had indeed been the one assaulted. He was currently lying in a hospital bed, being treated for broken ribs among other things.

Dean reasoned that this was a good thing. It meant that the Angels' best fighter was incapacitated for at least a couple more weeks. It was good. It was good. He repeated the phrase to himself like a mantra.

Determined to continue functioning like a normal human being, Dean headed out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Sam and John were sat beside each other, watching a football game. It seemed that - for now - the two of them had declared a truce in their endless war.

John looked up when Dean entered the room. He smiled and stood, clapping his hands together. "Dean. You're not busy are you?"

Dean frowned, puzzled. "No-"

"Good. Call every member whose phone number you have and tell them to meet at the Roadhouse in half an hour. I have something I need to discuss with you all."

Dean's heart sank into the ground. He knew exactly what his dad wanted to discuss. John had been talking about stepping down as leader for a few months now. He apparently thought that he was growing too soft to be the leader anymore, and that someone should take over for him.

That someone was Dean.

It was tradition with most of the gangs that the leader's first born would be their successor. There had never been any question that Dean was going to take over as leader of the Hunters after John. He'd just never thought it'd be so soon. 

It was virtually unheard of for a leader of the Hunters to step down. There were only three ways a leader would stop being a leader: if they were killed in action, became too old or sick, or if they decided to honourably step down. If a leader decided to take the course of the third option, they would have to notify the Hunters four months in advance. This was what John was doing now. After those four months were up, a vote would be cast among the members on whether they agreed with the leaders reasons to step down. If the majority agreed, the leader's first born would automatically take over.

The problem was, this virtually never happened. The Hunters believed in honour, and that included fighting until the very end. To decide on stepping down was almost like a suicide mission. If the Hunters deemed your reasons dishonourable or unworthy, they may decide they wanted to teach you a lesson.

Dean licked his lips and looked down at Sam, who hadn't moved. Sam's big eyes were wide and full of sympathy for him.

"I know you don't want to do this, Dean," Sam said softly.

Dean closed his eyes. "I just don't see why Dad's so set on this. It's not like he's fucked up or anything recently. So what made him want to do this?"

"I don't know," Sam replied.

"Fat lot of help you are," Dean muttered grumpily. "Well, I'd better start making phone calls."

Half an hour later, most of the Hunters were gathered in the Roadhouse. Some couldn't be there, because they were posted far away in deeper parts of Texas and New Mexico. That didn't matter though - as long as there were enough people here to be able to cast a vote in four months, it was fine.

Dean sat on a leather couch with Sam, Jo and Charlie. Charlie was clutching his hand and tracing circles on his palm in what he guessed was supposed to be a calming manner. Hushed conversation echoed through the Roadhouse. Nearly everyone knew what John wanted to say.

John himself was leaning on the countertop, watching the groups with fondness playing on his lips. Bobby was by his side, arms folded over his chest. He made eye contact with Dean and gave him a reassuring smile. Dean half-smiled back.

John held up his hand, and immediately the bar fell silent. Everybody's rapt eyes were attached to his face. They worshipped him.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sure many of you have heard whispers about my decision to step down. I'm sorry to tell you that the rumours are, sadly, true. I have concluded that the best choice for all of us is if I quit now." He pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the counter. Dean noticed Ellen bristle at that. "This gang needs some changes, and it needs them pronto. The kind of changes that someone like me can't hope to bring about. Let me explain more clearly. For twelve years, I have built a reputation around being just and fair in how I do things. This has paid off in some areas, but it has also caused our enemies to stop fearing us. They have grown complacent. They think they can frame us and turn other gangs against us. That is my fault. However, I do believe that, if we get a new leader, we can start from scratch. I cannot change our enemies' opinions of me, but we can make them fear a new leader if we play our cards right. So, I'm sure you can all see that my stepping down isn't cowardice; its a tactical move. Are there any questions?"

Nobody spoke. Everyone was still processing what John had just told them. None of them had expected that to be the reason he was stepping down. To them, he'd always been something to be revered and respected, so it was hard to believe that enemies thought he was soft.

Then - "What if we don't agree with the choice of successor?"

The voice had come from the left side of the bar. Gordon Walker appeared out of the group of people, directing his insipid gaze straight at Dean. Dean felt a mix of annoyance and anger bubble up in his stomach at the mere sight of Gordon.

"Excuse me?" John asked, addressing Gordon.

"I said, what if we don't agree with the choice of successor?"

"Well, why wouldn't you agree?" John asked, sounding thoroughly bewildered.

Gordon simply looked at Dean for a long moment. They were locked in a silent battle of mutual hatred, both of them daring the other to look away first. Eventually, Gordon wrenched his eyes away and fixed them instead on John.

"He's too young," he said.

"Uh, twenty-five isn't exactly that young," Charlie sneered.

"Thank you for your input, Charlie," John said. "Much appreciated."

"It is young, though," Gordon insisted. "At least, for a leader, it is."

John nodded. "I agree that twenty-five is abnormally young for a leader. But perhaps youth is exactly what we need at this point in time."

"But..."

Oh, Dean had had enough of this. He stood, and immediately all the attention was switched to him. "Could Gordon and I possibly speak alone, please?" he asked, hoping to sound authoritative.

John nodded his affirmation, and everybody trickled out into the evening atmosphere until only Dean and Gordon were left alone.

Dean took a shaky breath and turned to him. "What exactly is your problem with me, apart from my supposed youth?"

Gordon looked away, flexing his jaw. A vein throbbed in his forehead. He turned his head back to stare straight at Dean, his mouth curling into a disgusted set.

"Fraternising with the enemy," he said.

Dean's insides splattered to the floor. He stared at Gordon, not believing what he was hearing. Was Gordon actually playing that one? Dean decided to feign ignorance.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Gordon's face contorted. "Like hell you don't."

"I really, really don't."

Gordon glared like a viper. "Then I suggest you think, Winchester," he hissed. "Think long and hard about what you're willing to lose. I know your dirty little secret, and Lord knows what would happen if I accidentally let it slip to someone."

Gordon turned on his heel and marched out the door, letting it slam closed behind him. Dean still stood there, gaping at where Gordon had been moments ago. 

It was hard to believe that, once upon a time, they'd been good friends.

 

~~~~~

 

"You can go home today."

Those where the best five words Cas had ever heard. After two miserable nights of lying in a cold, uncomfortable hospital bed, getting to go home was a sweet, sweet release.

Naomi bundled him into the car and soon enough they were on the highway and he was leaving the hospital behind for a long time, he hoped. His body still ached and groaned, but the pain wasn't as crippling as before. He could walk with relatively no assistance. The worst thing was his ribs. Whenever he laughed too hard, breathed too deeply or stepped too far, it sent a pulse of pain surging through his chest. It had gotten so bad that he just tried to avoid speaking.

Luckily, Naomi didn't try to make conversation on the car journey. It was as if she'd somehow sensed that he didn't want to speak, and had decided to respect it. 

Finally, they arrived home. Naomi parked the car and climbed out. She hurried over to the passenger side and helped Cas out, keeping her hand on his arm as she led him down the street. This was ridiculous. Cas wasn't a blind person. He was pretty sure he could find his way down a street.

Once they were inside the house, Naomi helped him upstairs, wincing every time he did. She kept her hand tight on his arm while she led him into his bedroom. At this point, she let go of him and hung anxiously in the doorway.

"Will you be okay if I leave you on your own for a while?" she asked, dithering.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Cas replied dryly. Naomi chewed on her lip and nodded, granting him one last glance before closing the door and hurrying downstairs.

Castiel breathed (though not too deeply) and looked around. His bedroom was exactly as he'd left it. 

It must have seemed extremely strange to normal people that a man in his twenties still lived with his parents, but that was the tradition with the Angels. As the firstborn to Michael, the leader, Cas was set to one day become leader after his father. It was tradition that the leader and their entire family always lived in the same house, so Cas would never be able to move out. Oh well. He liked it here. The house was big.

For some reason, Cas had the sudden urge to go over to his bed and lift the mattress up a little. He knew what he'd find there, and he didn't know why, but he wanted to look at it.

He headed over to his bed and - delicately, so as not to hurt his ribs - lifted the mattress up a few centimetres.

Right there, carved in the wood of his bed, so old and worn that it was hard to make it out, was the following phrase:

'DW + CN'

Cas smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile, because a dull, hollow ache had begun to spread in the center of his chest. The ache was so raw that he didn't even register the shooting pain of his ribs.

When the ache became too unbearable, Cas abruptly dropped the mattress and turned away. He didn't know what had possessed him to make him just do that, but he cursed himself for it. It was funny how all it took was a few new physical bruises to remind him of the perpetual bruises of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo....yeah. This is the shitstorm I've abandoned WWCP for. Umm...
> 
> Please leave your comments down below and tell me whether it's worth it! I NEED TO KNOW!!!


	3. Tensions Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such a horrible person. It's been over two months since I've updated ANYTHING. The worst part is, I don't even have a good excuse this time. I just...haven't been writing. But, hopefully, I'm getting back into it now, seen as I have an entire week off before I have to go back to school and exams, so I will try VERY hard to get as many chapters up as possible and also update When We Crossed Paths.
> 
> If anyone is still paying attention to what I post after so long away, please leave reviews and comments down below!

Lucifer was not a morning person. In fact; he would go so far as to say he turned into the Incredible Hulk times one thousand if he was woken up before eleven o'clock.

He was woken up at six this morning.

He'd been lying in bed, blissfully unaware to the fact that his snoring could be heard three rooms down, when his phone suddenly blasted 'Highway to Hell' and yanked him out of sleep. (Lilith had thought the ringtone funny, and persuaded him to set it three weeks prior.)

Lucifer leapt out of bed, hollering and roaring and stumbling blindly. Unfortunately, he had taken his sheets with him, and toppled forwards, flat on his face. He pushed himself up with one hand, and with the other he wiped his face. His hand came away bloody. He'd obtained a bleeding nose.

Meanwhile, his phone continued to insolently blare the hard rock tune. Muttering inventive and colourful profanities, he reached over his bed and grabbed the phone, checking the caller ID. Azazel. What the hell did that asshole want at six o' clock in the fucking morning?

Lucifer pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear.

"Yes?" He made the single word sound as offensive as it possibly could.

"Luc," Azazel said down the line. "I need to talk to you."

"You couldn't wait until a less ungodly hour?"

"I really couldn't." He heard Azazel swallow. "You might want to come and see me in person to talk about this."

"Really?" Lucifer spat. "It's honestly that important that you had to drag me out of bed at six?"

"Luc, please. I need you to cooperate on this. Can you come down and meet me?"

Lucifer sighed. He was leader of the Demons, after all. He had to engage in the affairs of his own gang.

"Where?" he asked.

"Just meet me in the coffee shop on Earl Street. You know the one, with the blue sign?"

"Yes. I suppose I'll be there."

Ten minutes later, Lucifer had stemmed the blood flow from his nose, gotten dressed, and left the house, tiptoeing quietly so as not to wake Lilith in her bedroom.

He didn't bother taking a car - it was only five minutes' walk. The air was crisp and clear, and the leaves on trees were still damp from morning dew. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been up at this hour, but here he was.

Overall, he hadn't been having a great week. First, Castiel Novak had been attacked, just when Lucifer had been building the foundations of an alliance with the Angels. Then, Lilith had come home, reporting that she'd gotten into a fight with a couple of girls in her grade and had been suspended from school. And now, he'd been woken early in the morning and, just because life hated him, had also been given a bleeding nose in the process.

Lucifer reached the entrance to the coffee shop and pushed the door open. When he entered, he noticed the people behind the counter simultaneously tense up, as if they were wondering if a shootout was to be expected. Lucifer smiled. He had that effect wherever he went. When it had first started happening, he'd felt like crying. He didn't want everybody in town to be afraid of him. Over time, he'd learned to suck it up and realized that it meant that people knew the Demons weren't to be trifled with.

His eyes scanned the tables until he located Azazel sitting at the far end, staring into a cup of coffee. He was the only customer there at the present time. Lucifer quickly made his way over to him and sat down in the chair opposite.

"Whatever you're about to tell me had better be one hundred per cent goddamned legit, Azazel," he said in a low voice. Azazel jumped and looked up, only just noticing him. The lines under his eyes were more visible than ever today, and Lucifer felt himself soften slightly. He often forgot how old Azazel was. He made a mental note to start treating the guy a little nicer.  
"You came," Azael said in his gravelly voice. "I was almost certain that you wouldn't."

"Of course I came," Lucifer said, affronted. "I have a responsibility. Now, what was it you wanted so desperately to talk to me about?"

Azazel reached down into the bag he had with him and pulled out a piece of paper. He laid it on the table and Lucifer saw that it was a printed out photo of CCTV. It showed a grainy picture of a large truck pulling out of a parking lot. The information underneath dated it to the day before yesterday.

Lucifer looked up, uncomprehending. "I don't get it," he stated.

Azazel chewed on his lip. "One of my contacts sent this to me," he explained. "They told me that truck is, as we speak, transporting an enormous load of crack across the border from New Mexico to Texas."

Lucifer absently bit the inside of his cheek. This was an interesting and annoying development. "Where is it headed exactly?" he asked.

Azazel shifted his eyes away and directed them towards the table. "Morton," he mumbled.

Lucifer sputtered. "Are you fucking kidding me? You know full well that's Angel and Hunter territory. Let them deal with it."  
He half-stood to leave, shaking his head, but Azazel grabbed his arm, his eyes wide.

"Wait! I have reason to believe that some of our members may be involved in the drug exchange."

Sighing, Lucifer lowered himself back down into his seat. "Go on."

Azazel cleared his throat, rustling the paper. "My contact managed to get ahold of one of the men involved in the exchange and beat some information out of him. The man said that the exchange only got the authorisation to go underway because it was sanctioned in the name of the Demons."

"Somebody's framing us," Lucifer said, immediately dismissing the idea that any of his members could be disloyal.

"But something can only be sanctioned by us if the member proves their authenticity as a member. You must agree that it's at least worth looking into." Azazel's eyes poured into Lucifer's, forcing him to him look away. "Please, Luc," Azazel pressed. "I know you hate believing that any one of your members could do something like this, but you need to get to the bottom of it. We can't afford to be dismantled from the inside out. We'd be a laughing stock."

The worst thing was, Lucifer knew that he was right. He had to find out whether one of his members was running around authorising drug exchanges without his permission. It was a horrible, devastating thought, but nonetheless, he had to be professional.

"All right," he said. "Send Meg and Ruby into Morton to see if they can notify one of the gangs. Preferably the Hunters, seen as the Angels aren't trusting anyone at the moment. But make sure they bring backup. The last thing we need is some Angel or Hunter stirring up trouble. Do checks on every single member. I want to know exactly where they've all been in the last forty-eight hours."

One of these days, this job was going to run him into the ground.

 

~~~~~

 

"Dean, get your lazy butt down here!" Charlie bellowed from downstairs. Dean groaned and rolled over in bed. He checked the time on the clock on his nightstand. It was ten in the morning.

"Dean!" Charlie yelled, more insistently this time. Dean scoffed. If she thought he was going to haul himself out of bed at ten, then she was deluded. He buried his head in his pillow. The unmistakable thundering sound of somebody climbing up the stairs told him that Charlie was coming up to drag him out herself. His door flew open and Charlie entered, her short, red hair bouncing around her face.

"Dean, seriously, get up," she said, planting her hands on her hips.

"Why?" he grumbled insolently.

"Chuck just called me. Two members of the Demons just rolled up in Morton and they've been parading around, demanding to speak to either you or your dad."

"Tell them to fuck off," Dean replied, before attempting to roll over to face the wall. Charlie responded by yanking pillow out from under his head and thumping him with it.

"Dean! Your dad wants you to go and see what they want."

He sat up to glare at her. "I don't see the point! We're not exactly best pals with the Demons, in case you didn't notice." 

"As far as John's concerned, they're potential allies. So, you'd better haul your ass out of that bed this instant."

"You know," Dean said as he swung his legs on to the floor and pushed himself out of bed. "I'm supposed to be the one ordering you around."

She pointed a long finger at him. "You aren't the leader just yet, buddy."

"Yeah, and as soon as I am, you'll be getting all the bathroom cleaning duties at the Roadhouse."

"Whatever. Get dressed and meet me and Sam downstairs in ten."

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Dean had gotten dressed and padded downstairs to find Sam and Charlie sat at the kitchen table. As soon as he entered, Charlie jumped up and snapped her fingers. "Right! Let's go, then!" she exclaimed.

Dean eyed her. He'd never quite understand how someone as small as her could contain so much zeal and enthusiasm. He was at least two heads taller than her, and he could hardly muster up enough motivation to get out of bed.

Charlie took both him and Sam by the arms and dragged them towards the front door. Once they were outside, Dean dug around his pocket for the keys of his Impala. Charlie lay a hand on his arm.

"Not so fast," she said. "They're only five minutes away. We're walking."

Dean made eye contact with Sam, who rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, they all headed down the driveway and began walking down the street.

"I don't see why all three of us had to go," Sam said. 

"Well, we can't be too careful," Dean supplied. "They could be meaning to cause us harm."

As it turned out, the two Demon members likely weren't meaning to cause them harm. The three of them found them leaning against two motorcycles in an abandoned parking lot, with no weapons in sight. They were both females, with long dark hair and identical leather jackets. When Dean approached, he recognised one of them as Meg Masters, who he'd once been familiar with. That part of his life was long over.

Both of the girls unfolded their arms and stepped forwards. Meg gave Dean a sly look that he tried to ignore.

"Girls," Sam muttered, nodding at them.

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, let's get to the point. What do you want?"

The two of them glanced at each other. "You do the talking," the other one said to Meg, who sighed.

"Fine," she said and ran a hand through her hair. "Our leader, Luc sent us. According to his sources, somebody is importing a large amount of crack into this area. He wanted to send us to let you know, in case you wanted to deal with it."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Why us and not the Angels?"

Meg shrugged. "Don't know, but my best guess is because of the attack on Cas Novak. The Angels aren't trusting anybody at the moment, so he probably thought it'd be easier to approach the Hunters."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Dean asked as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"You don't," Meg replied. 

"Look," the other one interrupted. "All we were told to do was inform the Hunters. Now it's up to you guys what you want to do about it. As far as I'm concerned, it's not our problem from here on in. We're leaving now, for obvious reasons. We don't want to cause any trouble, and the longer we stay in Morton, the more likely trouble is to arise."

"Thank you for letting us know, then," Sam said.

Meg nodded. "I'd ask you to pass on condolences to the Novaks, but you're not exactly on best terms with them." 

Dean felt a sharp pain in his chest, and judging by Meg's smirk, she had directed the jab toward him. Sam glanced at him uncomfortably, but Charlie just looked blank.

At that moment, both of the girls slipped helmets on. As they turned to swing their legs over their motorcycles, Dean saw that the backs of their leather jackets were emblazoned with the word: DEMON.

"So long!" Meg shouted as the motorcycles revved up. Dean, Charlie and Sam stepped back to avoid the dust that the wheels were sending into the air. The girls drove forward and spun in a circle before racing away from the parking lot and out of sight.

 

~~~~~

 

Benny sat in the stuffy front room of the Alpha's manor, with Luther and Kate either side of him on the long couch. The burgundy walls were decorated with abstract paintings, and all the furniture was a deep orange colour. The Alpha had odd taste.

"Remind me what we're doing here?" Kate asked.

"Yeah," Luther chipped in. "There's a reason why we never come with you when you come here. This place is weird."

"The Alpha summoned us," Benny replied, feeling the seeds of annoyance beginning to grate against his skin. "You should show some respect."

"Hey, man, we are so respectful," Luther said.

"Respect is our middle name!" Kate added.

Benny growled.

Before he could berate them, the Alpha entered, wearing a pressed suit. He surveyed Luther and Kate distastefully, as both of them were slumped back on the couch with their arms folded. Benny sat up as straight as he could, and the Alpha settled his gaze on him.

"I'm off to make an important business transaction," he announced. "I will be gone for about two days. I need you to remain in charge while I am gone."

Benny clenched his jaw. The Alpha usually took him along whenever he made important transactions, but this time he was leaving him behind with Luther and Kate. Not only that, but the Alpha didn't seem to think he was capable of staying in charge on his own! It wasn't like he needed Luther and Kate to help him.

But he didn't say any of that. All he said was; "Yes, sir."

The Alpha gave a curt nod and abruptly turned and left the room. Luther huffed out a breath and got to his feet.

"Well. That was a total fuckin' waste of time. If that was all he needed to say, why couldn't he just have said it over the phone?"

Benny swallowed and ignored Luther. At least with the Alpha gone for two days, he'd be able to snoop around in his files and try to figure out what he was hiding.


	4. Bang Bang Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai
> 
> Ok, I know there hasn't been much destiel so far, but I've kind of done it on purpose, seen as there will be a LOT of destiel in the chapter after this one. Hold out for me!

When Michael arrived home, he found Naomi and Cas sat around the kitchen table. He headed into the kitchen to greet them, kissed Naomi's forehead and turned to survey his son. Cas was in bad shape; two black eyes, a split lip and bruises across his cheeks - and that was just his face. He also had a few broken ribs, evident in the fact that his arms were clutching his middle.

Michael had been out all day, meeting with his brother Raphael, and Balthazar, the Angels' associate. They'd been discussing the best way to get to the bottom of the attack on Michael's son, and how best to get payback. Michael knew he couldn't just let this slide; he had to show the other gangs that attacking his family was not a clever thing to do.

He assumed that it was most likely the Hunters. For the better part of twelve years, he and John Winchester had been locked in a bitter feud, ever since an incident that had occurred when John first became the leader of the Hunters. Michael guessed that John had probably gotten those trigger-happy sons of his to jump Cas when he was unarmed and unaware. 

John's eldest son, Dean Winchester, was the same age as Cas - twenty five. When Michael had gone to the Roadhouse to confront the Hunters, he had actually been hoping to see Dean. When he'd last run into the boy nearly two years ago, it had been during a messy shootout between the Angels and the Hunters, and it hadn't gone well.

Once upon a time, when Michael and John were relatively friendly, Dean had been good friends with Cas. More than good friends - they'd been almost inseparable. Michael knew that, when the feud between the Angels and the Hunters had first begun, Dean and Cas had taken it hard.

If Michael was being reasonable, he knew that his son somewhat resented him for taking him away from Dean. Michael wasn't a fool - he'd seen the look in Cas' eyes whenever he'd been with Dean. Cas had certainly never looked at girls like that. In fact, he'd never looked at anyone like that. That kind of bond with someone wasn't something a person just got over, and Cas might never get over it.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that it was hard to believe that Dean had played a part in Cas' attack. The two of them just had too much history together. However, Michael couldn't be too careful. Dean idolised his father, and he might just to anything that John asked him to.

Before Michael could wallow in his thoughts any longer, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," he grunted to his son and wife. He pushed away from the kitchen table and headed back out into the hallway to open the door. When he did, he discovered that it was two Angels members, Gabriel Clayton and Anna Milton.

"Hello, sir," Gabriel said nervously. "We're here to see how Cas is."

Michael nodded curtly and stepped aside to let them in. They hurried past him, and he listened as they entered the kitchen.  
"Holy shit, Cas, what did they do to you?" he heard Gabriel exclaim.

"God, I hope whoever did this gets what's coming to them," Anna said.

Deciding that his son would be occupied for a while now, Michael walked outside and shut the door behind him. He wanted to go over to Raphael's, to discuss further action they were going to take. It was a short walk to his brother's house, and when he arrived, he found that Raphael was just heading up the street. When Raphael caught sight of him, he stopped and waited for him to catch up.

"Anything to report?" Michael asked as he approached.

"Bad news, brother," Raphael replied. "I was just coming to see you. I've received word that a large load of crack is coming into Morton today."

"That's probably the work of the Hunters," Michael said dismissively.

Raphael shook his head. "Not according to my sources. Apparently, the Hunters are preparing to intercept the load. What do you think we should do?"

Michael considered it. "Let the Hunters deal with it," he decided. "We don't want to get involved."

"And if it gets messy?"

"So be it. If it leads to a shootout and some of the Hunters are injured or taken out, that's less weight on our shoulders, as far as I'm concerned."

He knew it was the best course of action. It wasn't as if none of the gangs dabbled in drug deals, but the problem was that people were sanctioning drug deals without the gangs orchestrating them, which meant that the gangs had less power over the area. People had to know that the gangs ran the biggest drugs businesses in town. If other dealers were taking up shop in Morton, the Hunters and the Angels would become a laughing stock.

Raphael nodded in agreement to Michael's decision. "I thought so. Do you want me to let the other members know about it?"

"There's no point. Some of the bigger fools will want to go and intercept the truck, so what they don't know can't hurt them."

"All right. I'm going over to my son's place. Claire's been asking for me."

Raphael's son, Jimmy Novak, was five years older than Cas, and had a three year old daughter named Claire. It sometimes concerned Michael; Jimmy had subtly expressed interest in leaving the Angels in order to raise a proper family with his wife, Amelia. It was a reasonable thought, but deserting the Angels was virtually unheard of. It was seen as an act of betrayal - some members even considered it the ultimate act of a traitor. Moreover, Michael didn't want to see Jimmy go. He was a valuable asset, and currently their best fighter, seen as Cas was temporarily out of action. The Angels needed him. The question was: who needed him more, the Angels or his new family?

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, I'd better be getting back. Best to wait it out while this whole crack load thing blows over. Don't want to be getting caught in the crossfire."

 

~~~~~

 

Dick Roman leaned back in his office chair, sighing and running a hand through his short hair. The Alpha had called him yesterday and told him that he would be travelling up for another meeting. Dick checked his watch. Any minute now.

Right on time, the intercom buzzed. "Yes?" he said impatiently as he pressed the button.

Edgar's voice crackled through the speaker. "Sir, the Alpha of the Vampires is here again, and he says he scheduled a meeting with you."

"Yes, yes, just send him up, Martinez," Dick replied. Talking with the Alpha was stressful, but he had to play nice, as the man had agreed to work with him to take down the Hunters, Demons and Angels. Once those three were out of the equation, Dick would be free to backstab the Alpha and take down the Vampires, but for now, he was forced to plaster on a pleasant grin.

The Alpha entered without knocking and offered Dick a rather scary leer that bared all his teeth. Dick returned it with a tight-lipped smile.

"Mr Roman," the Alpha said as he sat down opposite him. "I have a matter to discuss with you that I decided would be better face-to-face. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course. Proceed."

"Well, a thought occurred to me, and I realised that the other gangs must have spies, or at least people watching both you and I."

"Mm-hm."

"And it would begin to look rather suspicious if we kept meeting with each other, but not with any of the others. So, I thought that, if the Leviathans put on a pretense and discussed an alliance with one of the others, it may throw people off the scent a little."

Dick could see the logic in that. "Which gang did you have in mind?" he asked.

"Well, as tensions are hot between the Hunters and the Angels, I was thinking perhaps one of them? To spice up the feud and make one of them, ah, jealous, for lack of a better word."

"I see. The Hunters are undergoing major internal changes, as John Winchester is stepping down, so perhaps the safest bet would be the Angels."

"So, if you put on the illusion of discussing an alliance with Michael Novak, it may direct attention away from our dealings."

"That is a rather good idea," Dick said, nodding.

"Now, I have another matter to discuss with you," the Alpha continued. "I have associates affiliated with the Demons based in New Mexico, and they authorised a drug exchange. As we speak, a rather hefty amount of crack should be arriving in Morton at any moment. I thought it would be a good idea, seen as either the Hunters or the Angels will decide to intercept it. I have skilled gunmen driving the truck, and they will be able to take out as many as possible. It could help to thin out our opposition."

"But won't the exchange be traced back to you?" Dick asked.

"Oh, no, I'm not that stupid! I told my associates to make the exchange in the name of the Demons, which will also cause Lucifer to begin to distrust his own gang, and the Demons will tear themselves apart from the inside out."

"Brilliant," Dick marvelled. He was beginning to see the benefits of having the Alpha on his side.

"So. Will you be contacting Michael Novak soon, then?"

"Hopefully within the next few days," Dick replied. The Alpha nodded, then stood and stuck out his hand. Dick stood as well, and shook it obligingly.

"As always, it's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Roman."

"And you, too."

As the Alpha turned to leave his office, Dick found himself feeling slightly more optimistic about the future.

 

~~~~~

 

The Roadhouse was quiet and almost deserted, save for a few old men playing cards in a booth on the far right. Jo was behind the bar, cleaning the counter and daydreaming peacefully. It was only five pm, and she knew the Roadhouse was going to be crammed and crowded in a few hours, so she was making the most of her alone time.

Just then, the door swung open and in came Charlie, bouncing on the balls of her leather boots. She raced up to the counter with a delighted expression on her face and beamed at Jo.

Jo felt her heart pound a little faster, as it often did when Charlie was around. She was noticing this happening more and more, and she tried to squash the nervous feeling down. Charlie was only supposed to be her friend and nothing more.

"Guess what," Charlie exclaimed excitedly.

"What?" Jo asked, amused.

"There's a truck coming into town carrying a shitload of crack, and John wants us to intercept it. This is going to be so fun!"

Jo smiled. "Sounds like it."

"Come with us! You're pretty nifty with a gun, we could use your help."

Jo chewed on her lip. "I don't think my mom would-"

"Oh, screw that. You're part of the Hunters, so you can do what you want. If your mom gets really angry about it, just tell her that John ordered you to come with us."

"Who's going?"

"The usual. John, Dean, Sam, me and Gordon. Loads of other people wanted to come, but John wanted it to be a small operation."

Jo glanced back at the closed door, behind which her mom sat. She really wanted to go. It only took her a few seconds to consider before she made up her mind and grabbed a piece of paper to scribble down a note.

That's how, half an hour later, she found herself sitting on a motorbike with Charlie, Dean, Sam, John and Gordon right beside the large 'Welcome to Morton' sign. A handgun was wedged in her belt, ready for her to pull it out at a moment's notice. Her heart was thrashing ferociously, and she turned to give Charlie an excited look.

"You're going to love this," said Charlie, whose eyes were wide with anticipation. "It gives you such a thrill."

John frowned. "Now, it isn't about the thrill, it's about showing these people that they're not to mess with us."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ah, come on, Dad. You've gotta admit, it's at least a little bit about the thrill."

John cleared his throat. "Rufus contacted me," he announced - he had obviously opted to change the subject. "He said that he learned about the truckload, and he was hoping to get down here before the load arrived, but it looks like he'll be too late. It doesn't matter. I was hoping for him to be coming back anyway, so this was just a good opportunity."

"That's good," Sam said. "We haven't seen Rufus in - what? A year?"

Jo swallowed uncomfortably. The mention of Rufus reminded her of her dad's murder, which she didn't like to think about. As if sensing her thoughts, Charlie reached over to squeeze her hand.

Before anything else could happen, John sat up ramrod straight on his motorbike. Jo looked up and caught sight of a big white van speeding down towards them.

"Here we go," Gordon muttered.

None of them had made a move when a hand holding a gun reached out of the passenger window and suddenly began shooting at them. Jo instinctively leaned over her motorbike and covered her head.

"Scatter!" John hollered. Jo was aware of the others revving up their motorbikes, so she hurried to start her own and steered it across the road. She followed Dean, who was steering round in a circle to avoid the bullets.

Jo's pulse was racing as she took one hand off the handle and dislodged her gun from in her belt. It was already loaded and cocked, so all she needed to do was wrap her finger around the trigger and aim it at the target.

The van sped past them, bullets firing all the while. She dimly heard John yell for them all to follow the van, so she turned her motorbike around and raced after it. Charlie and Dean were either side of her, with Sam and John up ahead and Gordon behind them. As they edged closer to the truck, she saw John start to fire bullets into the back of it. She didn't shoot yet, because she was afraid of accidentally hitting John or Sam.

However, as the two of them spread out and came level with the sides of the van, Jo sped up and started to fire bullets into the place that John had been moments ago. By now, there were several holes and dents in the back of the van, and it was only a matter of time before they slowed it down enough to take it out.

Jo was getting far closer to the back of the van, so she decided to veer right and get level with it too. She was behind Sam now, and the hand with the gun in the passenger window was firing at the both of them. She followed Sam's lead as he rode in a zigzag line to avoid the bullets, but he suddenly veered out, giving her a clear shot.

She raised her own gun, preparing to hit the guy's hand so that he dropped his gun, but before she could, a sudden searing pain tore through her left shoulder. Before she had time to register it, a second pain ripped into her abdomen and she lurched sideways. 

The pain was almost blinding, causing her vision to blur. She could hardly see anything - she could only think about the pain. She only realised that she'd lost control of her motorbike when it was too late, and she went crashing down onto the gravel road.

The last thing she heard was Charlie's scream before she tumbled forwards into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews much appreciated!


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